


Pondering, Pondering.

by TheEnchantedQuill



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Domestic Violence, Don't worry Optimus will save the day, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Favors, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, It's because I love him, Just another fic where I abuse Ratchet, M/M, Makeshift is an asshole, Multi, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Threesome - M/M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23906434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEnchantedQuill/pseuds/TheEnchantedQuill
Summary: Makeshift takes Optimus' place in the Autobot base in order to gather intel for the ambush that would end the war in Megatron's favor. While under cover, he discovers Optimus' personal life, including his relationship with Ratchet.As he spends more time pretending to be the Autobot leader, he becomes power hungry, forming an addiction to using Optimus' position to take whatever he wants from others. This leads to the abuse of Optimus' mate, and a change in how the Autobot base is commanded. He goes as far as planning to overthrow Megatron and take his place as leader of the Decepticons.His ambitions are his undoing.
Relationships: Makeshift/Ratchet (Transformers), Optimus Prime/Ratchet, Optimus Prime/Ratchet/Wheeljack, Ratchet/Wheeljack (Transformers)
Comments: 59
Kudos: 105





	1. The Switch

**Author's Note:**

> This is a shorter fic, but it's got a whole lot of feeling in it. You've been warned.

The switch was easy and simple. 

A swift ambush. The Autobot would be cornered, and quickly beaten and taken into custody. Their replacement would take their place, and continue fighting off the vehicons until backup arrived. The Decepticons ‘beaten,’ the replacement would retreat into the Autobot base alongside the latter. 

And then came the difficult part.

Pretending to be that member of Team Prime, infiltrating among the ranks without being caught. 

Makeshift had prepared thoroughly. He had studied every member of the team, ready to stand as any of them. Pretending to be Arcee would be quite the challenge; he could only pray that it wasn’t her that fell into the ambush.

Thankfully, it wasn’t. 

It was Optimus instead.

The Prime fell into the trap and was engaged in a fast flurry of action, and Makeshift barely had any time to transform into the bigger, more robust frame. He grew in size considerably, and his plating stretched uncomfortably to accommodate. It was convincing enough. He paced back and forth a few moments, mimicking the way Optimus walked and carried his weight. Collected, balanced and heavy. When Makeshift was satisfied with his movements, he stopped to speak to himself. A few vehicons looked his way as he talked in a low baritone, very similar to Optimus’. “Autobots, fall back!” He ordered. “Retrieve the energon. That’s enough! Megatron, stand down.” He matched the Autobot leader’s tone and annunciation almost perfectly. 

“Makeshift, swiftly.” His master rumbled impatiently behind him. 

He rotated to face Megatron, but the warlord’s attention was no longer on him, but the monitor screen before him. Optimus had been electrocuted by a few energon prods, and was being wrestled into cuffs. 

“I’m ready, my lord.” The shifter bowed, his spark pounding in nervous excitement. It had been quite some time since he was in this tedious of a mission. 

“Go on, then.”

A groundbridge whirled to life, and he wasted no time in jogging lightly through, emerging into the canyon where Optimus was being jabbed with prods. Barely conscious, but still resisting, the Prime met his gaze, optics widening in hazy realization. “N-No-!”

Reinforcements poured through his bridge to assist in dragging the leader through the bridge and onto the Nemesis.

Now, the portal gone, Makeshift’s engines roared aggressively and he charged the vehicons, easily sending them flying with his increased size. Moments later, there was the hum of a motorcycle engine, and the two wheeler came peeling around the corner to join him. She transformed, flying into battle. Between the two of them, the vehicons could hardly make a stand, easily neutralized in one way or another, sliced in half or slammed into the wall of the canyon.

“Thank you for your assistance, Arcee.” Makeshift addressed her with uncertainty.

Evidently, Arcee’s adrenaline had caused her to glaze over the details of his gratitude. That, or she really didn’t care. “Yeah. Let’s head back, I’d hate for more to show up while our guard’s down.”

Eased, Makeshift nodded. “Send for a bridge.” He spoke with more confidence this time.

Arcee turned and spoke over her com.

A bridge opened meters away.

_ This is it.  _ Makeshift inhaled and led the way into the base. 


	2. Warm Fields

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makeshift doesn't understand how the Autobots interact.

“Are you hurt?” 

Makeshift fought his instinct to whirl around defensively at the touch on his forearm. Instead, he forced his frame to cooly rotate to face the Autobot medic, who looked up at him calmly. He thought for a moment. He’d have to be careful around Ratchet, him and Optimus had been friends for a millenia. “I received a blow to the helm. It disabled my communications.” He replied.

“Helm trauma can do that. It’ll fix itself once you recover. That’s all? You weren’t shot?”

“I have no other injuries.”

The medic smiled at him for a moment, it was subtle, but it was there. A warm field brushed him, and he tried not to cringe as it caressed him. Ratchet turned and walked off, pulling Arcee aside from her conversation with the wrecker to assess her condition. Makeshift watched him go, pondering. Did the Autobots often  _ rub  _ each other with their fields? Decepticons always kept their emotions tight to their frames. Was that something he’d have to do while he was here? Still pondering, Makeshift turned and approached the monitor, scanning the Autobot text and graphics. He was a bit rusty when it came to reading Autobot code, but he could manage.

“We’re off to pick up the kids.” The wrecker called from the doorway of the base. Makeshift rotated to acknowledge him.

The scout and two wheeler were beside him, already in their vehicular forms. Makeshift blinked, caught off guard. They weren’t going to ask for permission? They were just going to announce it and leave?

The trio drove off, out of the base, disappearing from sight.

The audacity of these Autobots.

Ratchet moved to his side. “I need the monitor.” He gestured for Makeshift to step aside casually, as if he’d done it a million times before. Makeshift looked down at him, optics whirling. “Hello? Earth to Optimus. Move over before I knock your aft down.” The threat was friendly, but Makeshift still narrowed his optics. Is this how he talked to Optimus? How could he, a lowly medic, address a Prime like that? Megatron would have slapped him straight if he had spoken in such a manner. 

Swallowing his confusion, he stepped aside for the medic. Ratchet moved to the monitor, uttering a brief word of thanks. 

Makeshift turned and left him in silence, striding into the hallway to explore. The base was well lit, as opposed to the dreary corridors of the  _ Nemesis.  _ To him, it felt alien and unnerving, but he was sure it was homey to the bots. He’d have to figure out which room was his. 

It was intriguing how the Autobots spoke to Optimus. They weren’t submissive. Ratchet outright ordered him around. That wasn’t correct, a Prime was supposed to be a leader, not a consultant, or a fellow foot soldier. Megatron ruled with fear, and everyone respected him. That was true leadership, not this. . . Pathetic display of weakness.

There was a time that Makeshift may have admired Optimus. The Autobots had made it this far. He had good strategies, and his people looked up to him. 

But it appeared that they did not respect him, not properly, at least.

Some leader Optimus was.

  
  



	3. Tender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makeshift learns something new about Optimus.

With some difficulty, Makeshift found Optimus’ berthroom, and tucked himself in for the night, burrowing into the blankets on the right side of the berth. The room was cozy, complete with a large berth and two desks. Why Optimus needed two desks, he didn’t know, but it wouldn’t hinder him in any way, so it was unimportant. 

Falling asleep in foreign territory was a challenge for Makeshift. There was a lot on the line. His life depended on his success in this infiltration, he absolutely couldn’t be found out. If the Autobots didn’t rip his spark out, Megatron certainly would. 

This was what would end the war in Megatron’s favor. 

Repressing his anxieties, he eased himself into a light slumber.

It was a sudden shock when he was pulled from his state of rest by a servo brushing his face. He jolted, shooting up and snatching the servo in an aggressive grip.

His optics met soft blue. Ratchet stared at him, optics wide in surprise. “I didn’t mean to startle you, Optimus.” He soothed, reaching out with his free servo to stroke Makeshift’s cheek. “You’re on my side of the berth.”

Makeshift tried not to shudder at the gentle caress. “What?”

The medic furrowed his brows, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Makeshift’s forehelm. “How hard did that vehicon hit you? Does your helm feel okay?”

“I’m fine.” The shifter waited until Ratchet had withdrawn to release his wrist. He scooted over to the other side of the berth, watching in confusion as the medic climbed in after him.

“You warmed it up for me.” Ratchet murmured affectionately, smiling at him.

"O-Oh, yes," Makeshift sputtered.

His spark was pounding when Ratchet pressed up against him, resting his helm against his strong shoulder. They were. . . Cuddling?

"You're going to let me do a helm exam tomorrow. You might be concussed." 

_ There he was, telling Optimus what to do again.  _ Makeshift didn't retort in any way, only tried to calm his racing spark.

Were Optimus Prime and the medic. . . Sparkmates? 

This wasn't in any records that Makeshift had gone through. 

This wasn't known by the Decepticon cause. 

_ Megatron  _ didn't know this.

Makeshift wasn't sure how to handle this new information. Not only did he have to pretend to be the leader of the Autobots, but he had to be a mate to a mech he didn't know. 

This was going to be quite the difficult task. 

Anxiety vibrantly pulsed in his field as Ratchet lovingly nibbled one of his neck cables, teasing with a talented glossa. He sucked in the field swiftly, but the halt in Ratchet's movements suggested that his panic was sensed. "Are you alright?" He asked, sitting up and looking down at Makeshift worriedly. "Did I hurt you?"

_ Scrap!  _ "No, no," Makeshift forced a calm smile. "I apologize, I am. . . Tired." He reached upward, pulling Ratchet down into a kiss. He tried hard to make it convincing, keeping his touch gentle and loving. He tried to be the lover Optimus would be, but he really had no idea. 

Ratchet only let it last a few moments, much to his relief, before parting and laying back down. "I'll let you rest then. Goodnight, Optimus."

"Goodnight."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"What's wrong, Optimus?" Megatron's cruel purr made Optimus' circuits boil. "Are you afraid that your dear medic is in bed with my spy?"

The Prime twisted and pulled at the cuffs, desperate for them to break. He was dangling from the ceiling by his wrists, thick keeping him suspended from the ground. "Megatron, end this, now," he hissed as his joints were strained by his struggling.

A device had been planted on Makeshift before he left, a one way audio feed. This was so Soundwave could hear everything going on around Makeshift, in the event that he was found out. The Decepticons would have the information he found even if he was killed.

Megatron had made sure that speakers would broadcast the audio into Optimus' cell. He liked how frantic and desperate Optimus grew while listening. 

By doing this he had learned, through Makeshift's experience, that Optimus and Ratchet were mates. This wasn't too much of a shock, but it still came as a surprise. Megatron had always wondered if their friendship would blossom into something else behind his back.

"How shy of Makeshift. If your medic had come on to me like that, I would have paid him in kind." The warlord teased in a low growl, circling the bound Prime slowly. 

"Megatron, call it off." Optimus pushed.

"I don't think I will. I think I'll let Makeshift spend all the time he needs extracting information from your dear Autobots before we strike." Claws swiped his back, tearing through the plating. Optimus winced and gritted his denta, energon dripping down his armor. "And then perhaps we'll bring them here, so you can watch me slit their throats, one by one. Or would you rather die first so you don't have to witness the deaths of your beloved Autobots?"

" _ Megatron _ ," the Prime hissed.

"You'll have plenty of time to decide. Makeshift isn't going anywhere."


	4. Pondering Further

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makeshift grows frustrated with Optimus' way of life.

Adjusting to the friendly atmosphere of the Autobot base had proven to be a challenge for Makeshift. The Decepticon warship was a cold place, grim, unfriendly faces around every corner, piercing silences, and an overall layer of depression. But the Autobots smiled at each other while passing one another in the hallway, would converse and tell stories and jokes. Makeshift struggled with deciding what Optimus would and wouldn't say when it came to small talk. 

It was very difficult to keep Ratchet off his case. He seemed to expect cuddling every night, and quick kisses whenever they had a private moment.

Makeshift wasn't ashamed to admit that it irked him whenever Ratchet invited himself to a kiss. 

Optimus really just let this pathetic medic all over him,  _ dirtying _ his honored spark. 

When Megatron took a partner, they were to submit and let him do as he pleased. They were not to touch him unless ordered to do so. They were to obey their master, to appreciate his power. 

Ratchet was the opposite of submissive. Makeshift nearly burst a circuit when the medic climbed into his lap and kissed him, like he wasn't a lesser being, like he wasn't below Optimus. 

The fragging audacity. 

Thinking about it made Makeshift angry. 

Just in spending two weeks within this base, he had found that these Autobots didn't respect Optimus like the Decepticons respected Megatron.

Megatron was a true leader. He was powerful and cunning, his presence struck fear into those around him. Nobody climbed into his lap, or scoffed at him or joked in his presence. Megatron was a better leader than Optimus. 

Optimus was pathetic. He let these bots walk all over him. 

It  _ infuriated  _ Makeshift that he took the place of a  _ Prime _ , the ultimate leader, the chosen one, and he still wasn't respected. 

He expected power in this position, but he was still a simple foot soldier. 

Absolutely pathetic. 

"Optimus?" 

Makeshift stirred from his furious dwelling and acknowledged Ratchet; the medic was standing close, expression set in concern. "Yes, Ratchet?"

"Is everything alright?" 

It was then that Makeshift realized his field was whipping around him, laced with all his anger and frustration. He pulled it in close to his plating, hiding his fury beneath his armor, cursing himself for being so careless. "I'm fine. Thank you for your consideration."

Ratchet didn't buy it. "What's wrong?" Makeshift gritted his denta. Megatron was never pushed like this, if he said fine, then that was it. "Optimus. . ." He reached out to touch his forearm. 

"I need air." The shifter shook it off dismissively. "I think I will go for a drive. I apologize for concerning you." 

His medic stared after him as he left; he felt those piercing optics follow him until he was gone. 

This was so disappointing. 

He expected  _ power. _ Instead, he got this shameless display of generosity and sweetness. 

_ Pathetic. _

Makeshift longingly imagined himself in Megatron's throne, clad in Optimus' strong form, ruling an army. Commanding respect, striking fear into those who doubted him, flanked by fiercely loyal warriors. 

He wanted power. 

And he had nothing. 

Just a taste of power, a taste of being feared would be enough. He pondered. And pondered. 

Just a taste would do. 

The Autobots were disrespectful, anyway. They needed to learn to function as an obedient army. Soldiers must obey their commander. 

A lesson may be in order.

_ Don't be so hasty.  _ Makeshift chastised himself. Punishing the entire team was a bad move, especially right now. He'd have to start somewhere else. 

Ratchet would use some work. 

That medic had no respect for him. He acted as if they were equals. A giddy pulse bloomed in Makeshift's field as he imagined demonstrating his power over the assertive medic and showing him what a true leader was. 

This was a good place to start.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Reevaluation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet's contributions to Team Prime are reevaluated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where stuff picks up, I hope you read the notes.

It didn’t take long for Ratchet to step out of line. 

Makeshift had been on the monitor, researching, scanning through data and reports of Autobot intel. He filed away the bits that could be useful to his faction. 

As if he owned the place, the medic approached, not even meeting his optics as he shooed Makeshift away. “I have work to do. You can use it later.”

Makeshift bristled in annoyance. Knockout never shooed Megatron away from his task, so why should Ratchet? “Excuse me?” He asked firmly.

Now, the medic glanced at him, only briefly. “I need to use it.” He replied dismissively, already closing Makeshift’s windows and settling into his own work.

“Did you consider asking for permission?” Makeshift pressed, letting out some of his frustration into his field. Ratchet stilled for a moment, sensing the displeasure. He turned a little to meet Makeshift’s gaze. The shifter was towering over him, trapping him in a tall shadow. He ruffled his armor to seem bigger.

“I didn’t.” Ratchet’s answer was simple and nonchalant. Was he still not getting it? Or was he playing dumb? Makeshift ground his denta with his tense jaw; this felt like a challenge. “Do I need to ask for your permission to use the computer _I_ built?” Ratchet quirked an optic ridge at him. “How about the groundbridge that _I_ built? May I use that?” He didn’t sound angry, but it was clear that he was irritated with the feedback he was receiving. 

Makeshift stared at him, utterly floored. The medic was unphased by his intimidation, and answered it with _sass._ If Knockout had spoken to Megatron like this. . .

His optics whirled narrower, holding their gazes together while he pondered what his next move should be. 

A sigh left Ratchet. “I’m sorry, Optimus, I could’ve been nicer. It’s been a long morning, my patience is wearing thin. Was what you were doing im-!” He cried out as his leader backhanded him, hard, the large black servo striking his cheek, knuckles leaving a rising blue splotch. Ratchet stumbled to the side, gasping, touching the stinging, agitated metal. “Wh. . . What the _frag,_ Optimus?!” He spun back to face the shifter. “You- I- _WHAT THE FRAG?!”_

Makeshift was clenching and unclenching his servo. The strike had made his knuckles sting pleasantly, and the evidence of his blow on Ratchet’s stunned face almost made him giddy. “Do not raise your voice at me, Ratchet.” He took a threatening step towards the medic; he had to resist the urge to evilly smile as Ratchet flinched away. “You are out of line. I have been far too lenient with your attitude, and it’s time that you learn your place.” _Beneath me._

Ratchet stared at him, agape. “ _Excuse me?_ How _dare_ you? You absolutely _can not_ dictate me! I have and will follow your orders for as long as I live, but you _may not_ command me for the sake of commanding me, and you will _not_ use violence to push me about!” The medic exploded, his field lashing out aggressively, striking Makeshift with his furious energy. 

Makeshift actually flinched at the outburst, but refused to falter. He surged forward, one of his large servos closing around Ratchet’s throat. The medic could only gasp and shudder as he was slammed against the wall, the concrete cracking and rattling the railing. The shifter gave a tight squeeze, optic’s glimmering in pleasure as Ratchet gave a choked whine, his delicate pipes creaking under the pressure. Makeshift only held tight for a moment before slackening, letting the medic breathe. “Do you wish to repeat that?” He growled in warning. “Do you wish to defy your leader again?” 

Wide, panicked optics stared up at him. Confusion was blooming in Ratchet’s field. He searched Makeshift’s gaze desperately, his field hesitantly reaching out to brush the shifter, in hopes to coax out an explanation, or evidence of the soft Prime he knew. There was another cruel crush to his throat, and he uttered a breathy “Optimus, stop!”

Makeshift lessened his hold. “Well? Will you disobey me once more?”

“N-No, just let me go!” Ratchet wheezed. 

He was released, and he shakily stumbled away, sending Makeshift one last puzzled look before hurriedly retreating to the medbay, door closing behind him.

Well.

That felt good.

Makeshift beamed proudly, sighing in content. He had wanted to do that so badly, he had wanted to feel this _power._

This was what a good leader was like. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The intense feeling of satisfaction didn’t fade, it remained planted firmly in Makeshift’s field. It was so. . . _addicting._ To exact his strength over another mech, to feel powerful, to be in a Prime’s position. He pondered it all day. 

As a Prime, he had the right to take whatever he wanted, to do whatever he pleased. On Cybertron, that wouldn’t have flown, but here, where the past rules held no meaning. . . Now, Optimus was the only leader of this stature, he possessed his own special type of power. 

And Makeshift got to taste it. 

Why Optimus didn’t take advantage of his power, Makeshift didn’t understand. But he wanted more, he wanted to feel this feeling more now that he had experienced it. 

There were so many things to do with his newfound advantages, there was so much potential. . .

He had a good idea of what he wanted to do next. 

Megatron often used his power for his own personal gain, using his position to take what he wanted from anyone he pleased. He often employed his power to take relief from his soldiers.

Makeshift was sure he could do that in Optimus’ plating. 

Night fell, and the fire within the shifter’s chest hadn’t died. Against his better judgement, he made the decision to chase that high. Like a fanged predator, he stalked through the base, field rippling dangerously with malice as he made his way to the medbay. Ratchet hadn’t left the medbay since their scuffle, and that brought a pleased smile to Makeshift’s face. He had made the desired impact. 

The door opened, and he strode inside. The medic was seated on a workbench, silently working away on a tool Bulkhead had crushed not too long ago. He didn’t look up to acknowledge the new presence, but his field gave a warning pulse. Makeshift approached him, pondering what he could say. “We have some matters to discuss.” 

A scoff left Ratchet. “I don’t have anything to say to you right now.” 

“Ratchet, this is urgent. You know that.” Makeshift pushed, deepening his voice. “After today, I believe that we must speak immediately.” 

The medic made a noise of frustration, slamming the tool down onto the workbench and rising to his pedes aggressively. “Fine. I hope you’re here to apologize, because what you did-”

“Not here.” The spy interrupted. “We’ll move somewhere more private. Come.” He gestured for the medic to follow him; Ratchet stomped after him, making his displeasure known as they made their way towards their shared quarters. 

In the quiet of their berthroom, Ratchet stood facing him, arms crossed, watching him expectantly. Makeshift took his time in closing and locking the door, planning his actions carefully. He finished, turning to face the medic, scanning over him. Everything about Ratchet’s body language told him that the medic was very angry. 

“Well?” Said medic spat.

What was said next sent Ratchet reeling. “I would like to evaluate your contributions to Team Prime.” Makeshift spoke coolly, pushing his excitement down in his chest.

“ _What?”_ Ratchet gaped at him. “ _That’s_ what you want to talk about? What about earlier? What about you fragging _hitting_ me?”

“I did what had to be done, Ratchet. You will not question me for that.” A threatening step was taken towards the furious medic. “We are here to discuss the role you play.” Makeshift held up a hand as Ratchet opened his mouth to speak. “No, you will listen.” He crossed his arms. “Ratchet, I do not believe that you earn the energon we waste on you. While your expertise is useful, and I do acknowledge that you keep the team alive, it is a minor contribution. My soldiers risk their lives every day in the field, they labor hard. They earn their energon. And you,” he narrowed his optics, “You sit within the safety of the base all day while they give it their all. I don’t believe that’s fair.”

“Optimus, I do more than patch the lot of you up after battle,” Ratchet’s field flickered and whipped in offense. Makeshift had hit a nerve. “I am the first to admit that I do not possess the ability to contribute what the others do, but I more than make up for it! Look around you, every bit of useful technology we use in our everyday life, I have built and provided you with. I have held everything in this base together with no resources other than my skill and will power. I have worked to provide you with synthetic energon _every day,_ and I will continue to do so until I succeed. Do not downplay what I do for this team, for I do everything in my power to help all of you. How many times have I saved your sorry aft? How many times have I saved _all of you_? Optimus, I will always respect your opinion, but this-” He gestured around him furiously, “This is just insulting. I cannot believe you are doubting me, and after what you did to me today. . . I think we have a lot to reevaluate.” Finished with his rant, Ratchet made to stomp past Makeshift, planning on storming out and sleeping in the medbay. 

Makeshift took his arm in a harsh grip, thwarting his flee and shoving him back to the center of the room. “If that’s how you feel, then why do you limit your energon intake?” He hissed. Ratchet stiffened. “Why do you stay up later than all the others, and rise before them? Why do you spend so much more time working? Why do you never take breaks like they do?” Satisfaction burned in Makeshift’s optics as Ratchet cringed. “That’s what I thought. You know that you are worth so much less, you know that you will never do enough to earn the resources wasted on you, so all you do is work to make up for it.”

“Optimus. . .” Ratchet stared at him, horrified, taken aback. He shrunk back as Makeshift started moving towards him.

“I will offer you a chance to make it up. I will show you how you will earn your energon.” The shifter towered over him, stalking towards him dangerously. “You owe the team, Ratchet. You owe _me._ ” 

“I don’t. . . That’s not. . .” The medic sputtered, his back hitting the wall. He pressed against it anxiously as Makeshift trapped him there. “Optimus. . . What is this?”  
  


“You will submit to me, and earn your place. I can’t put you in the field, thus we will exercise the next best thing. I have urges and desires, and I must have an outlet. You understand.” Makeshift reached out and stroked his side; he jolted at the touch.

“Is this. . .” Ratchet swallowed, trying to slow his panicked breathing. “Is this. . . Some sort of experimentation? Are you trying to mix up our berth life? You. . . Can’t just decide to try things without my consent, Optimus. Is that what all of this is?” He shuddered as servos ran along his chest. “You need to talk to me first. . . I don’t like this. We aren’t interfacing right now. Get off.” He pushed the roaming servos off of himself, only to be slammed back against the wall forcefully. “What-” Makeshift’s lips sealed over his own, swallowing his exclamation. 

The shifter forcefully explored his mouth, gripping his chin to prevent him from resisting. Ratchet whimpered against his lips, frame tremoring. Makeshift broke the domineering kiss to drag his denta over Ratchet’s neck, grazing the delicate cables roughly.

“Optimus, stop,” The medic gasped. 

He cried out as he was pulled from the wall and shoved onto the berth, the large form of his mate clambering to pin him. “Optimus, I’m serious, stop it.” Ratchet pushed against the shifter’s chest, shaking his helm. “I mean it, get off of me.” 

“You owe me, Ratchet.”

“Optimus, please, stop.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_“Optimus, stop it, please, you’re hurting me!”_

Optimus thrashed in his chains, field exploding in fury and panic. He fought harder than he ever had, and for a moment, the vehicon guards worried the bindings would break. 

Megatron was staring at the speaker, bewildered, visibly growing angry. “What is he _doing_? He’s going to blow his cover!”

“Stop him!” Optimus barked, the chains clashing as he struggled. “Megatron, stop him!” His chest was heaving, and his optics were wide with fear. Makeshift was hurting his mate. Makeshift was forcing himself upon his mate. He felt helpless listening to Ratchet beg over the speaker, helpless to help his scared partner. 

_“Please, Optimus. . . Please, this hurts, I don't want this. . ."_

Smoke erupted from Optimus’ pipes as his engine revved loudly, his frame straining and fighting hard. “Megatron, do not let him do this!” He hissed. “You need to stop him _now_!” 

The warlord didn’t answer him, only turned on his heel and stormed out, his voice booming down the hallway, “Get me Soundwave. I need to contact Makeshift immediately.”

_I’m so sorry, Ratchet._


	6. Lost Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet struggles with the aftermath.

Ratchet didn’t get very much rest that night. He woke from a light slumber, jolting into consciousness, waking in a panic. Beside him, Optimus mumbled and stirred in his sleep. The medic looked over at him, watching him rest for a moment, tears welling up in his optics. A broken sob left him, and he covered his mouth to stifle the noise. He feared what would happen if Optimus woke. Muffling the sound of his weeping, he rolled over, putting his back to his mate and pulling the blankets over his battered, bruised frame. 

Why did Optimus do this?

The Prime had always been a gentle,compassionate lover. He adored Ratchet, and there had never been a doubt in Ratchet’s mind that Optimus’ spark was his. Until now.

What made Optimus change his mind? Why was Ratchet all the sudden not good enough? Why was he suddenly abusive?

Optimus had never struck him with the intention of hurting him. Optimus had never used his size and strength to intimidate him. Optimus had never used his stature as a Prime against him.

Optimus had never told him that he wasn’t good enough. 

Ratchet suffocated his sobs into the blankets, desperate to keep quiet, but unable to contain his crying. His frame shook, his armor rattling. He felt nauseous. He felt _hurt._

What was he going to do?  
  


Who could he turn to about this? Nobody in Team Prime was aware of their relationship, it was a secret only for the two of them. He didn’t want to out his personal life. And even if he did, were they to believe that _Optimus_ hit him and raped him? He himself couldn’t believe it. 

Hypothetically, if they believed him and took action. What were they going to do? Eject the leader of their cause? Kick him out of the base? He’s a Prime, he’s their best chance for survival and success in the war. They wouldn’t be able to do anything. 

So how was Ratchet supposed to handle this? 

Optimus retaliated in violence when Ratchet resisted him. The medic stood no chance, he was smaller and weaker than his mate, he couldn’t stop him if his life depended on it. 

What the frag was he going to do?

The Prime stirred again, this time waking. His engines rumbled as his systems onlined, and Ratchet desperately tried to quiet his crying. Primus, he had never felt afraid of his mate like this. . .

“”Now now, Ratchet.” The medic’s frame went rigid as a servo stroked his waist. “Why are you upset, my Dear? You should be grateful. I’ve given you the means of redeeming yourself, to pay back what you owe.” Optimus leaned forward to kiss his shoulder. A day ago, the gesture would’ve been sweet and affectionate, but now, it was cruel and domineering. “I expect you in this berth every night. Don’t be avoiding me.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Ratchet asked shakily, squeezing his optics shut. 

“I wish to help you.”

“No, you don’t. What changed your mind about me? Why. . . Why did you stop loving me?” Bursting into a fit of sobs, Ratchet rolled off the berth and stood on quaking legs. “What did I do to deserve this?”

Optimus met his teary optics calmly. “I reevaluated your worth. It is lacking.” He replied simply.

The medic fled, bolting down the hall to the washracks. He burst through the door and locked it, collapsing in a heap, sobbing. 

He wanted to wash Optimus’ touch off of himself. He wanted to feel clean of the mech he had loved more than anything. He wanted to scrub the hurt off of himself and let it disappear down the drain.

It wasn’t that easy.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Makeshift watched the distressed medic run with little care. Ratchet would come around and become less emotional in time, the initial shock wouldn’t last forever. The shifter rolled back over and let himself fall back into recharge. 

  
  



	7. Satisfactory Results

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makeshift is proud of his work.

Makeshift had grown in confidence after demonstrating his power over Ratchet. Two weeks of cutting the medic’s fire down had put him into his proper place; the smaller mech had become submissive and fearful. As he should be. Satisfied in his work, Makeshift had grown comfortable in demonstrating a greater rule over the other Autobots. He broke them in slowly, and they seemed confused initially, but his judgement wasn’t questioned and by the time a couple days had passed, they were asking for his permission for  _ everything.  _ By the end of the two weeks, he had tight reins on everyone. The cheerful mood of the base had diminished into a bland quiet, as the family was groomed into a proper army. This was how it was supposed to be.

He had gotten a bit carried away with Ratchet. He had begun rationing the medic’s energon intake, limiting him to hardly anything if his behavior wasn’t up to Makeshift’s standards. He was going out of his way to find any mistakes Ratchet had made for the thrill of reprimanding him, demanding services and his presence in the berth at any time, and so on. He had noticed that Ratchet now trembled whenever he got onto the berth, and jolted whenever he heard Makeshift’s voice. Ratchet was  _ afraid  _ of him. It felt wonderful. 

Megatron had reached out to him and furiously demanded to know his reasoning behind abusing the medic. His cover was put in jeopardy, and his leader was enraged by his carelessness. Makeshift insisted that he would not be found out, and that he simply wanted to have some fun before they destroyed the Autobot base and slaughtered it’s inhabitants. He was informed that he was on thin ice. That didn’t stop him, however. He had gotten a taste of power, and now it was all he wanted.

To be Megatron, to be feared and respected. . . 

Makeshift wanted what Megatron had.

He was contacted four days prior to give details on the whereabouts of the Autobot base, and what kind of defense systems it possessed. He procrastinated on sending that information out, or even in pursuing it in the first place. His purpose was less important for now. They were in no rush to destroy the Autobots, Megatron was having fun with the real Optimus Prime on the warship, why shouldn’t Makeshift have a good time? 

Speaking of which.

Five minutes ago he had told Ratchet to take a break and meet him in the washrack. He had started a hot oil shower, excitement blooming in his field and in his frame. He never tired of using the medic. Ratchet entered soon after, hesitant and timid. His optics remained locked on the floor as Makeshift pushed him against the closed door, capturing his lips in a domineering kiss. The shifter’s glossa wasted no time in forcefully mapping out the inside of his mouth, field surrounding him aggressively.

Ratchet stood stiffly, pressing against the door so much that it made his back hurt. His arm was taken in a rough grip, and he was pulled into the shower, dragged under the stream of oil and harshly kissed again, servos roaming over his body and gripping him tightly. “Please be more gentle,” the medic quietly whimpered. “That hurts.” The grip on his hips was making deep dents as Makeshift ground on him hard. There was a stinging slap on his aft, and he jolted, gasping. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Makeshift growled, his engines rumbling expectantly. 

Ratchet squeezed his optics shut. “I-I’m yours, Master.” His voice shook and cracked as tears ran down his cheeks. In the past, dirty talk was a popular feature in their interfacing, but now, the submission was forced and meant to humiliate him. Now, he absolutely hated it. “Nngh- Please, make me yours, Master.”

“That’s better.” The shifter reached behind the medic and gripped his thighs, lifting him up and pressing his back to a wall. “Mm, we should interface in here more often. I enjoy this. Do you like being taken under a hot stream of oil, Ratchet?”

Inhaling shakily, Ratchet quietly answered, “It hurts my back.”

“Mm. Good thing that it doesn’t matter what you like. Open.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Optimus had never felt so angry. He had never felt such a blinding rage before. The reprimanding shocks made no difference to him; he thrashed and lashed out and fought  _ hard.  _ The chains were creaking and straining in his intense resistance, and he swore that he was close to breaking free. It was when he noticed that the metal restraints were weakening that he stopped his furious thrashing; it was unwise to break them now, in front of seven vehicon guards. He went limp, feigning a gasp of exhaustion, going still and breathing hard to convince the guards that he had grown tired and would no longer fight. One prod-happy vehicon jabbed him one more time before they all backed off, scuffling out of the room and back to their posts. 

Carefully, Optimus worked the chains a little. He could see the three links that were on the verge of breaking. That was his way out. He vented, contemplating. He’d have to choose the perfect moment, he’d have to be watchful and careful. Escaping would be no easy feat. 

He was prepared to do whatever it took to get back to his mate. 

_ “Please, no more, you’re hurting me, please-” _

“Stay strong for me, Old Friend.” The Prime murmured to himself, squeezing his optics shut. “I’m coming.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Makeshift slouched against the slick wall of the shower, watching with a smug, satisfied grin as Ratchet washed himself. The medic was moving tensely and nervously, visibly uncomfortable that he was being watched. It made Makeshift’s engines rumble with pleasure. The shining oil ran down Ratchet’s sleek plating, making him glimmer in the washrack light. He was very pretty like that, shiny and shimmering while he covered himself in embarrassment. Makeshift could watch him like this all day, there was a certain peace to it. He had spent the last few years in a gloomy, dreary warship; this haven of watching the sexy medic scrub himself clean put the glorious  _ Nemesis  _ to shame. Ratchet’s well structured body, slick with oil, legs pressed together timidly, rubbing his arms and chest slowly and sensually, it was certainly a beautiful sight. Even the most gorgeous cities and sunsets on Cybertron could not live up to the display before Makeshift. 

There was a quiet but shrill beep in his audial, and he let out an annoyed huff. Ratchet cowered as he pushed past him, stepping out of the shower to dry his slick plating off. “I have something to do. Get back to work.” He ordered, wiping his frame down before tossing the towel aside. He didn’t wait for an answer, exiting the washrack and making his way outside. 

The beeping in his audial was a signal that Megatron wished to communicate with him. He could only imagine the furious lecturing he was about to receive. Once he had made it out of the Autobot base, and was well away from it, looking out across the barren desert, he contacted his leader. 

“Yes, Lord Megatron?”

_ “Makeshift, I have tolerated your blunder for long enough. Tell me, what Autobot intel did you find in that medic’s panel? What useful information did you gain from spending all your time fragging him?” _

“None, Sir, other than the fact that the Prime and the Medic are bondmates.” 

_ “You have procrastinated the defeat of our enemies for long enough. You will send the coordinates of the Autobot base,  _ now.  _ The attack will take place tonight. You will be ready.” _

“My Lord, I haven’t gotten all the information that I would’ve liked.” 

_ “You had your chance. Soundwave is standing by. Send your coordinates.” _

The line cut. 

Makeshift stared at the horizon, pondering. 

A moment of thought was all he needed.

He dipped a servo into a nook in his plating, where a small device was hidden. He pinched it between two digits and plucked it out, crushing it and tossing it into the dirt.

They could no longer hear him.

The journey back to the base was swift. Makeshift moved with excitement and newfound motivation. 

He wouldn’t be sending the coordinates.

This was step one to overthrowing Megatron. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The moment Optimus was gone, Ratchet crumbled under the stream of oil, a broken cry escaping him. He had never cried very much before, and now, he was breaking down daily. He covered his face, jolting with sobs. 

He felt hopeless. 

There was nothing he could do to escape Optimus. He was a fragging  _ Prime,  _ when it came down to it, Ratchet couldn’t disobey him, especially when he was ruling with such force. He couldn’t tell the others, it wasn’t like they could do anything. 

Ratchet just wanted it to stop. 

His frame was battered, his paint chipped, scuffed, and scratched, and he was covered in dents from being beaten around. Arcee had asked him about it, coming from a place of concern, and he dismissed it as him being too busy to groom himself. 

He wanted so badly to tell her the truth, to tell her that he was being beaten and abused. 

What would Optimus do if he found out? 

Ratchet feared his retaliation. It hurt when the larger mech struck him, and hurt even more when he forcefully interfaced with him. 

Submission and obedience was his only option. 


	8. Prime, Medic, Wrecker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makeshift bargains with Wheeljack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you read the tags

Everyone was glad that Wheeljack arrived for a visit. The base had been gloomy and depressing while Makeshift was running it, everyone expected to go about their tasks quietly. Makeshift noted with pleasure that the lot of them were moving like vehicons: dull and dreary. When Wheeljack arrived, he brought happiness with him, and for a moment, everyone could enjoy themselves. Even Makeshift was pleased with Wheeljack’s presence. He knew the wrecker well, as he had impersonated him for a short period of time once before. He knew that his presence would benefit him. 

The decision to use the small team to get to Megatron so he could overthrow him had led Makeshift down a whole new path of pondering. He would certainly need all hands on deck. Manipulating the Autobots to get him close enough to the warlord to assassinate him would be quite the feat, and he wanted to subdue the bots in turn. To have them chained in the brig, and the entire Decepticon army at his command. . .

When the Decepticons saw that a foot soldier, a shifter, had beaten Megatron, they would give him the respect that he desired so badly. He would get the power that he dreamed of. 

Wheeljack was a loose cannon. He wouldn’t want to stay in the Autobot base, he wouldn’t want to be a foot soldier. That would take some convincing. Makeshift would need to do some thinking on how he would get Wheeljack at his side.

He closely observed the wrecker while he was present, observed how he interacted, how he laughed and joked. Nothing useful was coming from his storytelling. A night of discrete spying had gotten Makeshift nowhere, much to his dismay, and he went to sleep that night frustrated. His frustrations were taken out on the submissive medic, per usual, and Ratchet woke that morning a mess of dents and scuffs. 

Makeshift entered the main hangar, having slept in, and was met with a curious sight. Ratchet was working on the groundbridge, alternating between bending over, crouching, and standing. Even the shifter could admit that watching the medic from behind was a treat, and he was entertained for a moment, before out of the corner of his optic, he saw Wheeljack. The white wrecker was seated on a workbench, optics trained on Ratchet, a pleased smirk on his face. Makeshift watched curiously. Wheeljack was very clearly watching Ratchet, visibly checking him out every time he bent over, his devious grin growing impossibly every time. 

That could be useful. 

The shifter approached Wheeljack, who only seemed to notice his presence when he was close by. “Hey, Chief.” He greeted nonchalantly, not looking away, not hiding the fact that he was enthralled by Ratchet’s aft. 

Makeshift set his jaw. “Do you need anything?” He feigned the generosity that Optimus always seemed to put off.

“No, I’m just enjoying the view.” The wrecker chuckled, finally glancing at him, quirking an eyebrow. 

_ Perfect.  _ Makeshift’s engines hummed pleasantly. “My mate does have quite an alluring posterior. I certainly understand your interest.”

There was a stunned silence.

“Sorry about that Chief, I didn’t know.” Wheeljack backpedaled, laughing uncomfortably. “You’re a lucky Prime, you know.”

“Have you. . . Been interested in him long?” 

Rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, the wrecker admitted, “Since I met him on Cybertron, I guess, but I never really thought about pursuing it until I met him again on Earth. It’s more of a, uh, desire, rather than romantic interest. He’s sexy as frag.” He laughed again.

Makeshift sat down on the bench beside him, ignoring the surprised look. “Well,” he began. “I do believe that Ratchet would be open to some. . . experimentation. If you have any interest, our berth would be open to you.” He let that hang in the air for a moment, basking in the shock in Wheeljack’s field.

“You inviting me to a threesome, Prime?” The white mech stared at him, optic ridge raised.

“Would you be interested?” 

Another laugh left him. “Frag yes I would. I’ll see the two of you tonight, then.” He stood, stretching casually. He made to leave, but Makeshift stopped him.

“I would like a favor in return, Wheeljack.” The shifter said carefully, watching for his reaction. The wrecker smirked at him, shrugging.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to remain on Earth. There will come a time where we will need another Autobot by our side, and I want you to be easily accessible. Will you be prepared to join me the moment I need you?” Makeshift felt that this was fair. He wasn’t expecting Wheeljack to live within the base, he only limited him to Earth.

A moment of pondering. “Sure, Prime. I can do that.”

They parted, and that was that.

Makeshift approached Ratchet, smirking as the medic visibly tensed at his presence. “Wheeljack is joining us in our berth tonight. I expect good behavior, and enthusiasm towards our. . . activities.” He informed him matter-of-factly.

Ratchet stared at him in horror. “Optimus, I can’t do that, please, I don’t want to-” 

He was silenced by a glare. 

He had no say.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Ratchet’s anxiety built up through the duration of the day. By the time he was in his shared quarters, he was trembling with panic, his armor rattling. Optimus was sitting at his desk, casual and quiet, careless of Ratchet’s unwillingness. “Don’t make me do this.” The medic begged, hugging himself subconsciously. 

“Get on the berth. He’ll be here shortly. And,” Optimus looked at him, narrowing his optics. “You will be enthusiastic and willing or I will hurt you.” 

There was a knock on the door, and Ratchet reluctantly sat down on the berth while the Prime let their guest in. “Good evening, Wheeljack.”

“Evening, Chief.” The wrecker greeted, immediately finding Ratchet and smiling. “Evening, Doc.”

Ratchet nodded with a vent, trying to soothe his pounding spark. It was hard for him to breathe. There was a moment of awkward silence.

“So how are we going to go about this?” 

Optimus sat back down at his desk, sitting back in his chair, relaxing calmly. “I think I will watch for the first round. I’ll let the two of you become acquainted with each other.” He grinned.

“Sounds good. How about it, Ratch?” Wheeljack watched the medic, optics whirling with excitement. His field was pulsing in arousal. 

“A-Alright.” 

“Let’s put on a show for him, then.” Wheeljack pulled the empty chair away from Ratchet’s desk, taking a seat and using one digit to summon the medic over. “Come here, Doctor.” He purred softly. Ratchet sucked in a breath and approached him, shyly taking a seat in his lap and shivering as strong servos slid over his aft, holding him steady. He let the wrecker kiss him, parting his lips to let an assertive glossa into his mouth, placing his servos against the wrecker’s chest to steady himself. His aft was gripped and squeezed before Wheeljack’s servos moved to his thighs, stroking the metal along the way, and then up to his waist. 

Ratchet tried to enjoy it. This was the most gentle touching he had received for weeks, but frag, he didn’t want this. 

Beneath him, he felt Wheeljack’s modesty plating snap back, and he shuddered. Wheeljack took one of his servos and guided it down to his open panel, engines rumbling with arousal. “Feel how much you turn me on.” He growled against Ratchet’s lips, guiding Ratchet’s servo to his spike. Ratchet blushed. “If Optimus wasn’t watching, I’d have you put it in your mouth.” The wrecker purred. “Maybe later.” He leaned back, taking Ratchet’s hips and tilting him back a little. “Show me your gorgeous body, Doc.” 

Ratchet looked away, cheeks aflame, humiliated to be exposing himself to the wrecker, while his abusive mate watched with satisfaction. His panel slid open, and he began to tremble as Wheeljack made a sound of approval.

“You’re so beautiful. Will you touch yourself for me?” 

“I-I. . .” Swallowing, Ratchet clenched his servos into fists to hide the way they shook. His armor was beginning to rattle again, visibly, and tears were gathering in his optics.

Wheeljack stopped dead in his tracks. “Ratchet? Are you okay?” He withdrew his servos, brows furrowing. “I’m sorry, did I do something? Frag, you’re shaking. . .”

The medic covered his mouth to stifle the broken sob that left him. Wheeljack panicked, carefully guiding the medic off of him and pulling a blanket off of the berth to cover him. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, don’t cry, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” The wrecker was speaking in a soft, gentle voice that Ratchet had never heard before.

It was the first time someone asked him if he was alright in weeks. Something broke in Ratchet, and he buried his face into Wheeljack’s chest and  _ sobbed.  _ He wanted to beg for help, he wanted to beg for protection against Optimus, he wanted to be listened to. Wheeljack didn’t know what to do, patting his shoulder awkwardly and looking at Optimus for help. 

Optimus rose to his pedes. “Wheeljack, I think you should leave,” he took Ratchet’s shoulders and pulled him off of the confused wrecker. 

“Is he okay?”

“I’m not sure. Thank you for your concern, but you need to go.” Optimus gestured to the door, holding his anger at bay until the wrecker was out the door and down the hall. “You pathetic  _ toy, _ ” he snarled, shoving Ratchet to the floor. “You can’t even spread your legs for the wellbeing of the team? You’d jeopardize us for your pride?” 

“Please, I’m sorry, I was scared,” Ratchet was whimpering as the blanket was torn off of his frame violently. “Please don’t, please-!”

“You are  _ pathetic _ ! You are useless! All you had to do was look pretty and take a fragging! You can’t even do  _ that _ !” Optimus pinned him down, striking him once across the face before picking up where Wheeljack left off. 

“Optimus. . ."

“Shut up.”

Hopefully Wheeljack would still be willing to keep his end of the bargain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Ratchet's mental health


	9. Rising Action

Wheeljack approached Makeshift the next morning, quietly asking if Ratchet was alright after the night before. It was strange to see the white mech so concerned, his optics softened kindly. Makeshift assured him that the medic was fine, there were some personal issues that led to his breakdown the previous night.

Ratchet was ordered to stay in the berthroom until later in the day; Makeshift didn’t want to see him. He was furious that Ratchet had ruined this step of his plan, and he fully intended on making Ratchet regret it. 

Wheeljack still offered to remain on Earth. That was relieving.

Makeshift’s focus went to sending some of the Autobots to the  _ Harbinger  _ to search the wreckage for weapons. The Decepticons had the numbers on them, and he wanted to have the best possible chance for victory. He had also begun sparring often. Bulkhead and Wheeljack often engaged with him, two against one. They were no gladiators, but Makeshift made due with the practice. 

He hoped that he wouldn’t have to engage with Megatron, that he could strike him while his guard was down. His combat abilities were nowhere near those of the warlord’s, trying to beat him in a battle was suicide. He’d have to be careful. 

An ambush may be the way to go. 

Makeshift would need to spend a lot of time pondering and perfecting his plan of attack. Especially because Arcee and Bulkhead returned empty-handed from the  _ Harbinger,  _ no weapons, no nothing. That was upsetting. 

Perhaps he could create a fake peace offering, pretend that he was begging for forgiveness and present something Megatron wanted. When the warlord approached to take it, he could strike. 

Makeshift swiped his blade through thin air as if he were cutting into the Decepticon leader. The other Autobots would then emerge from hiding and beat any Decepticons off of him, Soundwave would probably be livid that Megatron was killed, and would be quick to seek vengeance. He would need the Autobots to create a shield while he transformed back to his true form and declared his right to the Decepticon throne. Then, he would command his subjects to capture the Autobots, and they would go straight to the brig. Possibly executed. He smirked to himself; Ratchet would remain alive, only to stay chained at his side, his personal toy. He had grown to like the scared, submissive pet that Ratchet had become. It made him feel powerful. Ratchet could even bear his young, for his lineage to continue. 

Makeshift’s plan was full of holes and wasn’t based off of the best strategies. But more pondering could be done. He could chain Ratchet up and present him as a peace offering, a plaything to dangle in front of Optimus’ face. That may be a worthwhile trap to set.

Ratchet. Bound in chains. 

His engines rumbled at the thought. He’d have to try tying his plaything down, and see what that did for him in the berth. It was an arousing thought, imagining the medic all tied up. 

Makeshift retracted his blade. Maybe he’d visit Ratchet now. 

There was a lot of pondering to do. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


On the warship, Optimus was also pondering. 

The audio feedback had cut out, the listening device destroyed. Megatron now had no way of knowing what was happening in the Autobot base with his spy. Optimus had no idea what was happening to his medic. 

There was a frenzy of panic and frustration, Megatron was absolutely furious that Makeshift had betrayed him. The visits to Optimus stopped, as all of his focus went to finding the treacherous shifter. Megatron wasn’t there to check on his bindings, and the vehicons had always been hesitant to check him because he would strike them down whenever they approached. The broken links in the chain had gone unnoticed. 

He didn’t know what Makeshift was planning, or why he had betrayed Megatron. But he did know that he was going to rip that mech’s spark out for hurting his mate. 

Night fell on the warship. Optimus waited until the brig was absolutely silent, the normal passerbys no longer roaming the halls. He could hear the two guards outside his cell door, conversing quietly. They wouldn’t be hard to overpower. 

One great pull and twist, and the chain broke. His wrists ached from the constant pressure, and they tingled as circulation came back to his servos. He hastily freed himself of the chains, and quietly approached the door. It was locked from the outside, he’d have to get them to open it in order for him to escape. 

He lifted his pede and delivered a hard kick to the door; it dented from the force. His servos transformed into blasters, and he waited.

“What was that?”

“He couldn’t have gotten down, could he?”

“Should we call someone?”

“Let’s just take a look and see.”

One could always count on the stupidity of a vehicon.

The door slid open, and Optimus fired twice, one blow to each helm, and then he was free. 

_ I’m coming, Old Friend. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Ratchet jolted as the door opened, dread creeping up on his spark. Optimus stood in the doorway, a cube of energon in one servo, and a long chain in the other. “Want to try something new, my Dear?” His abuser purred. 

Ratchet wanted more than anything to scream for help. “Optimus,” he swallowed. 

“You will call me  _ master  _ for this.” Optimus began stalking towards him. Ratchet cowered, looking up at him with scared optics. Their chests almost touched, and Ratchet tried to reach out through their bond for the first time in weeks. He had felt so closed off and desperate to keep Optimus out, but now, frightened and scared, he wanted to desperately search for any sign of the old Optimus that he loved. 

He found nothing. 

He couldn’t feel anything from this mech’s spark. 

Confusion bled into his optics and into his field. 

“You. . . Are you. . .”

Why couldn’t he feel Optimus?

“Quiet. Get on your knees.” 

_ Oh no. . .  _


	10. Lost Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus makes it back to base while Ratchet's mental health continues to plummet.

“What do you  _ mean  _ he escaped?!” 

Megatron’s thundering shout echoed through the halls of the  _ Nemesis. _ Tension was high in the warship, the Decepticon leader dealing with a betrayal and the escape of his worst enemy. Starscream was desperately trying to calm him, staying out of his dangerous reach. Vehicons were muttering and quickly shuffling about, trying to look helpful. Soundwave was reviewing the footage of Optimus’ escape, displaying it on a large screen for Megatron to watch over and over again. 

“With Makeshift off the radar and doing Unicron knows what, Optimus was our only hope for locating the Autobot base and ambushing them! How incompetent do you have to be to lose a chained prisoner?!” 

“Master, we may still be able to contact Makeshift, Soundwave is actively trying, I’m sure he’ll find a way,” Starscream flinched as Megatron paced past him, the ground shaking beneath him. 

“Makeshift will no longer be useful to us once Optimus gets his hands on him.” The warlord heaved a stressed sigh. “We have lost our assets. The opportunity to win this war was in my grasp, and the moronic lot of you struck it from me.” He turned on his heel and stormed from the room, stomping his way up to the flight deck and transforming, taking off into the brisk nighttime air. 

Everyone on his warship was useless.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Arcee was confused when the monitor rang with Optimus’ voice. She could have sworn that Optimus was in his berthroom, and had been there for a while, but perhaps he had gone for a drive. He had been doing that often lately. 

_ “Optimus to base, I need an immediate groundbridge.” _

“Yes, Optimus.” She sent Bulkhead a puzzled look, pulling the lever and watching the portal swirl to life. “Huh. He must’ve made it past us.” 

Optimus strode through immediately, his optics scanning the room rapidly, his field flaring and whipping around him intensely. Bulkhead and Arcee shared a glance. “Hey, Optimus,” Bulkhead greeted.

“Where is he,” the Prime’s voice came from deep in his chest, rumbling with pure fury. Smoke was rising from his pipes, his field was a storm crackling with lightning, his optics were narrow and intense. They had never seen him this angry. 

“Who. . ?” The green wrecker asked slowly, his voice quieting as if he was addressing an enraged wild animal. 

“Optimus, are you okay?” Arcee closed the bridge, not taking her optics from her leader. He had been acting very strange for the past couple of weeks, but this enragement was certainly new. 

Optimus didn’t answer, he simply moved towards the hallway, servos clenching and unclenching. His field brushed the pair, and they both flinched at the intensity, watching him storm down the hallway. 

  
  
  
  


Makeshift had Ratchet on his knees before him, chained so tight that the firm links peeled his paint and left dents in his plating. Reduced to a broken, anxious mess, he was crying quietly, whimpering and pleading while the shifter circled him, watching him with lustful optics. In his servo was a small handheld whip. “Do you want energon, Ratchet?” 

Choking on his tears, the medic forced out a “Y-Yes.”

“Do you think that you deserve it?” 

Ratchet burst into a sob, squeezing his optics shut as tears ran rapid rivers down his cheeks. He cried out as the crop struck him across the face, his cheek burning in pain. “No,” he gasped.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” 

“I don’t deserve it,” Ratchet’s voice shook so much that he didn’t even recognize it anymore. “I don’t deserve the energon, I don’t deserve to live, I don’t deserve anything!” He didn’t dare open his optics and look up at his abuser.

He didn't recognize himself anymore. Who was this weak, trembling mech that he had become?

Makeshift was grinning. “Beg to refuel.”

“Optimus, please let me refuel. . . Please, I need energon. . .” 

He was struck again on the other cheek. His cry of pain went straight to Makeshift’s panel. “You look splendid like this, you know.”

“Please stop. . .” Again, Ratchet's side of the bond reached out, desperately searching for his mate's spark. Again, he felt nothing from this mech. His spark was pounding. Why couldn't he feel Optimus? This wasn't possible, unless. . . 

Then, he felt something. It wasn't from the abusive mech stalking around him. He wasn't sure where it came from, but through his bond, he felt a raging storm of fury. 

"Beg again, my Dear."

  
In the middle of the next string of pleas, the door to their berthroom opened. Both Makeshift and Ratchet jolted in surprise; it was locked, it had to have been opened with the override code, and nobody else in the base knew it. 

Horror dawned on Makeshift’s face as Optimus’ strong form filled the doorway, a cloud of vibrant fury surrounding him. His optics moved over the trembling form of his mate, whirling sadly, before intensely narrowing when they met Makeshift’s. “Get away from my mate,” he snarled, leaping into action and striking Makeshift hard with one fist. The shifter flew back, hitting the wall with a cry. The room shook from the impact, the wall cracking. Optimus was on him again in a second, a fist closing on his shoulder, hauling him upward so they were level. Optimus’ free servo transformed into a blade. 

“N-No!” Makeshift sputtered, optics wide with fear. He clawed at the grip on his shoulder. “Please, don’t terminate me!”

“When he begged you to stop, did you?” Optimus demanded, jaw clenching so hard it hurt. “When he begged for mercy, did you give it to him?” The shifter looked up at him with terrified optics, panicking. “How dare you beg me for mercy after denying my mate just that? How  _ dare  _ you?” He drew his arm back, the blade glinting. 

“Don’t! Please! I-I’ll leave, I won’t come back, I won’t tell Megatron anything!” Makeshift was reduced to a pathetic display of weakness in Optimus’ servo, and he bore no shame. “Please,” he pleaded when he saw how utterly unmoved Optimus was. “I’m going to terminate Megatron, I’m going to overthrow him, we could work together! I can get us to him!” 

Disgust hardened Optimus’ lips into a frown. “Nobody deserves what you did to my mate. Not even Megatron. If his pleas went unheeded, why shouldn't yours?” 

“P-Please. . .”

Energon splattered across Optimus’ arm, Makeshift’s form going limp in his hold. The light in the shifter’s optics faded to a dull grey. Venting, Optimus dropped the lifeless husk, his blade retracting. Makeshift was cruel and twisted for what he did, and Optimus felt that this fate had been coming for him. Even still, he felt a bitter sting. He never wanted to kill in cold blood.

“O. . .Optimus?” 

The Prime turned, meeting his medic’s frightened optics. The fury flushed out from his field in an instant, replaced by sadness and absolute adoration. “It’s alright, Old Friend. . .” He hastily wiped the energon off of his arm with a blanket, before tossing it aside. He was hesitant to touch his medic, though he wanted to so badly. Ratchet had been traumatized, he didn’t want to frighten him further. Quickly, he freed Ratchet of the chains, before backpedaling and giving him space. He lowered to his knees on the ground, an arm’s length away from his poor mate, and opened his arms in a loving invitation. 

Ratchet didn’t know what was going on, or what he just witnessed, but he knew for damn sure that  _ that  _ was his Prime. 

Ratchet leapt into his hold with a sob, crashing into him and nearly knocking him over. Optimus hugged him to his chest, pulling him into his lap and wrapping his field around them. His mate cried into his chest, clinging to him for dear life, his frame wracking and trembling with sobs.

“You’re alright, I’ve got you,” the Prime gently murmured to him. “I’ve got you, Sweetspark, you’re safe.” 

“Who. . .”

“His name is Makeshift. He worked for Megatron. He was supposed to give the Decepticons all the information they needed for an ambush, but he cut off contact with Megatron.” Optimus stroked his back, sighing. “I’m so sorry, Ratchet, I came as soon as I could.”

“Where were you?”

“On the  _ Nemesis. _ ” He listened to his medic try to quiet his crying. “Are you hurt?”

“No. . . My energon levels are low.” 

Optimus leaned back to look over his mate’s battered frame. He was scuffed and abused, but he had no injuries. “Will you drink a cube while I get rid of. . . Him?” He asked, taking Ratchet’s chin and lifting his gaze so they looked into each other’s optics. 

“I don’t want to be without you. . .” Optimus’ spark melted. 

“It’ll only be long enough for me to dispose of him and explain to the others. Then,” he leaned down to press a tender kiss to Ratchet’s forehelm, “I will not leave your side.” 

Ratchet leaned into his touch, sighing. “Alright.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Arcee, Bulkhead and Bumblebee were ashamed beyond words, each one of them absolutely destroyed that they weren’t able to pick out the imposter. They had known Optimus for eons, had lived with him for years, and they somehow managed to miss the fact that he had been replaced. Bumblebee was crushed that he had been tricked. 

Arcee, ever so perceptive, stepped forward and asked if the odd change in Ratchet’s behavior had been because of Makeshift’s presence. Optimus hesitantly confirmed. The two-wheeler then spiraled into a rage of self loathing. “I knew something was wrong, and I didn’t do anything about it! Ratchet was hurt because of my incompetence!” 

Optimus shut her down very quickly. “Blame will not fix what has been done. Dwelling upon regret will not help Ratchet, or anyone now.” He anxiously looked in the direction of the hallway. Makeshift’s body had been removed from his berthroom, the wall and floor cleaned of his energon. Optimus had to rinse himself of the shifter’s energon himself, and had to clean his minor wounds. Both were quick and easy tasks that seemed to take hours. All he could think of was Ratchet, curled up in his old berthroom, waiting for the all clear to join Optimus in their shared quarters. 

Ratchet must have been so afraid.

The others watched Optimus depart for the hallway, interested but knowing not to probe.

“I wonder if Ratchet’s okay, it seems like he’s hiding.” Bulkhead pondered out loud.

“Optimus looks like he’s going to see him now.” Arcee narrowed her perceptive optics. She was onto them. 

  
  
  
  
  


Rest that night was difficult. 

Optimus swept his mate off of his pedes, laying him down on the berth, intending on snuggling him until they both fell into recharge. Ratchet initially responded happily, laughing and kissing Optimus lovingly. But as he was gently delivered onto the berth, he felt his spark speed up. His tanks twisted in anxiety. He began to tremble, his armor rattling. Tears welled up in his optics as panic took over his frame, reducing him to a scared, shaking mess. He was absolutely rigid in his mate's hold, his instincts telling him to lay still and submit. 

Optimus, who had been kissing his neck as he laid Ratchet down, froze dead in his movements. Slowly, he put the medic down, before withdrawing from the berth and taking a step back. “Sweetspark,” he murmured. 

Ratchet gasped, trying to calm his breathing and his pounding spark. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know why I can’t. . . I. . .”

“Take a deep breath, Ratchet.” Optimus soothed, reaching out to hold his cheek. Ratchet flinched away at first, but quickly returned to bury into his touch. “You’re having a panic attack.” He observed.

“I don’t. . . Know why, I trust you, I love you, I-I’m not scared,” Ratchet’s breathing was still fast and shaky, his legs quaking and his armor clanking loudly. 

“Please, can you take a deep breath?” Optimus insisted. Ratchet forced himself to stop for a moment, inhaling long and slow, holding for a moment, and then exhaling slowly. “Keep going. Keep breathing.” He pushed pure love to his mate through their bond, stroking him with affection and adoration. “I love you, Ratchet.”

Ratchet wiped his tears away, still forcing himself to take the slow, long breaths. It took several minutes of those deep, long breaths to finally slow his racing spark. Little by little, his trembling went away, until the only movement of his frame was his deep breathing. Optimus had moved closer, sitting beside him on the berth, stroking him and petting him soothingly. 

“Please lay next to me,” Ratchet stared at him longingly.

“You were traumatized, Ratchet. I don’t want to frighten you. I could sleep on the floor.” His mate stroked his cheek. "I will still be right beside you, but you need time to heal."

“No, please, I need you.” Ratchet reached out and took his collar, pulling him down. “Try again. . . Please.” He leaned up to peck him on the lips, his field pulsing with love and desperation, trying so hard to prove to his mate that he could handle this. Their gazes met. 

Optimus stared into those soft, sad optics that he loved so much. It was hard to say no when he looked like that. “Alright, but if you feel afraid, please tell me, this isn’t something we can rush.” He carefully slipped in beside Ratchet, moving slow and watchfully. Ratchet bravely snuggled up to him, trying to bury his instinct to resist against the gentle touch. “Are you alright?”

Ratchet was taking deep breaths again. “Just let me settle for a moment.”

Through patience and determination, the pair finally managed to cuddle together, Ratchet’s anxiety dying down enough for them to enjoy one another’s presence. 

The medic slipped into recharge, resting his helm against his mate’s strong chest, listening to the thrum of his spark. 

Optimus stayed awake for some time, watching Ratchet while he rested. Tears welled up in his optics, but never made it down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, My Love.” 


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end! 
> 
> Thank you to DSK1138, who pitched in to the idea before I started writing it. They had the idea of Makeshift getting ambitious and power hungry, which was a twist I loved and had fun working into the story.

Optimus entered the base in a tired state, his optics dull with his lack of energy. It had been a very long day. His field was a hazy fog around him, thickened with sad thought. It was late at night, the base dimly lit, all of the Autobots tucked away to their berths. Optimus looked forward to sliding into his berth beside his mate and holding him, he had been longing for it for the past hour. He crept through the corridor, trying to keep his heavy pedsteps quiet as to not disturb the others. 

_ “Tell me, Optimus, does he flinch when you touch him? Does he tremble when you sleep beside him?” _

Optimus shook his helm to rid his mind of Megatron’s voice. He kept walking.

_ “Has he let you frag him since? Or is he too afraid of you?” _

A noise of frustration left the Prime’s throat.

_ “Did Makeshift leave scars? Is he damaged? Do you see evidence of your failure to protect him every day?” _

_ "Does he wake up screaming at night? Does he cower when you reach to console him?" _

It made Optimus sick that all of Megatron's assumptions were true. Ratchet was instinctively afraid of him. The pair had been working very hard to soothe his anxiety, to make him relax and feel comfortable again, but even still, Ratchet would wake in the night crying, would start to shake when Optimus touched him. 

There was a light at the end of the tunnel, however. Ratchet had nearly gone three weeks without an anxiety attack, he had successfully cuddled every night and could kiss him without fear. Optimus had been able to begin touching him again, as long as he spoke soothingly along the way, he could touch most of his body without incident. 

Optimus was so proud of how Ratchet fought so hard to cope. His strength was so admirable. 

When he opened the door to his and Ratchet’s quarters, the lights were off and the berth was empty. Odd. Optimus leaned on the doorframe for a moment, looking around, before sneaking back down the hallway. He quietly made his way to the washrack, stopping at the door to listen. The shower was on. His field perked up a bit, and his end of the bond reached for Ratchet’s curiously. It was met with Ratchet’s spark happily greeting him, a wave of affection washing through their bond. Optimus smiled, punching in the code and entering the washrack. 

Ratchet’s back was to him; he was standing under the stream of warm oil, scrubbing solvent onto his plating and running a sponge over his frame. Optimus stood watching him for a moment, venting in content. His mate was so pretty. The medic evidently hadn’t realized that he was there. He removed a couple of his personal belongings from his subspace, setting them onto the counter and slowly stepping into the shower. His field reached out and stroked Ratchet’s lovingly, and he was pleasantly surprised when Ratchet didn’t startle. His mate turned around, greeting him with a warm smile. “Hello.”

Optimus stepped into the stream of oil with him, lowering to his knees before his mate, wrapping his arms around his hips and burying his face into his abdomen. Ratchet stroked the back of his helm.

“Is everything alright, Optimus?” He asked softly, staring down at his mate with concerned optics. 

“You are the strongest mech I know, Old Friend. I love you.” Optimus hugged him tight, his voice muffled against Ratchet’s warm, wet armor. "With all my spark."

“Did something happen?” Ratchet continued to stroke his helm. He thought for a moment. “Is Megatron still. . . saying things?”

Nothing ever got past his mate. He was always so perceptive. Optimus loosened his hold to look up at him. Their optics met, and his spark skipped a beat. He never got tired of staring into those soft, alluring eyes. “I don’t understand why he continues to affect me like this.” He took the sponge from Ratchet’s servo and began to gently scrub the shining white armor, stroking his chest and making his way down. 

“Emotions never make sense.” Ratchet shrugged, smiling and venting happily at the calming sensation of his mate washing him. 

“I have known his ways for eons, and he still manages to hurt me.” Optimus scrubbed a cable on Ratchet’s waist. “And worse, he’s managed to hurt you.” 

“And look at how strong we are because of it. Optimus, you have risen above everything he has thrown your way. You are stronger than him, and he knows that. He knows that the only thing he can do is lash out with those pathetic low blows.”

“And hurt you.”

“Well,” Ratchet sighed, “That was only a recent development. Look at me, Optimus. I’m fine. I’m safe. We have risen above it. Together.” His engines purred as Optimus moved to scrub his thighs, slowly working towards his panel, nearly getting there, nearly stroking him with that sweet, soft touch, before dropping back down to scrub another spot. “Stop teasing me.” He glared. 

Optimus smiled up at him. “You’re just so pretty when you want to be touched.” 

Ratchet rolled his optics, lowering down to his knees in front of his mate before laying back, pulling Optimus with him. Optimus hovered above him, settling in between his legs and blocking the stream of oil with his frame. Ratchet, shielded from the shower, stared up at him with his beautiful optics, biting his lip suggestively in a way that he knew made Optimus crazy. His Prime dipped down to kiss him, taking his lips gently and lovingly. “No more talk of Megatron tonight,” Ratchet mumbled against his lips. “I just want you.”

“That I can give you, Old Friend.” Optimus nipped his mate's lower lip hungrily, before shrinking back ever so slightly. "Are you certain you're ready for this? We haven't interfaced since. . ." He trailed off, searching his mate's face. "Will this be too much?"

That made Ratchet pause to think. He sighed, closing his optics for a moment, before opening them again to look at his Prime. "I feel good about this. Don't jinx it." 

Optimus smiled, unable to hide the excitement coursing through him. He was so damn proud of his medic. "As you wish, Old Friend." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I pushed myself to experiment with something new, I worked hard to capture the effects of abuse and manipulation, which is something I've never really worked with before. Thanks for joining me on this heavy roller coaster!

**Author's Note:**

> This entire work is pre-written! Stay up to date, new chapter every one to two days. I hope you enjoyed!


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